


Marbling

by Toastedbuckwheat



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, doesn't succeed :), maeglin works hard to earn rejection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastedbuckwheat/pseuds/Toastedbuckwheat
Summary: Hello! So this is my first fic for the Silm fandom. In the last three years I haven't written anything longer than the occasional ficlets I'd include in my tumblr posts to accompany my drawings, so this is by no means perfect - but I simply couldn't resist the urge to write some Maegthelion - a pairing that has been really precious to me and @mimimarilynart recently, and I really wanted to at least try to lay out our headcanons regarding the beginnings of their relationship.cw: drowning.
Relationships: Ecthelion of the Fountain & Maeglin | Lómion, Ecthelion of the Fountain/Maeglin | Lómion, Erestor/Glorfindel (mentioned), past Ecthelion/Glorfindel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	Marbling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is my first fic for the Silm fandom. In the last three years I haven't written anything longer than the occasional ficlets I'd include in my tumblr posts to accompany my drawings, so this is by no means perfect - but I simply couldn't resist the urge to write some Maegthelion - a pairing that has been really precious to me and @mimimarilynart recently, and I really wanted to at least try to lay out our headcanons regarding the beginnings of their relationship. 
> 
> cw: drowning.

A curved route of a single flower of jasmine making its way across unstirred bath water was what Ecthelion made his eyes trail while waiting for his lover to finish his ablutions in the far corner of the room. The silence — the _usual_ , _pleasant_ silence of their meetings — was interrupted by the sound of water splashing against Lómion’s skin, and despite having just completed the exact same action, he felt that — apart from diverting his gaze — he should also make his thoughts allow Lómion some privacy.

Their soft smiles met as Lómion stepped into what was more of a shallow indoor pool than a bath, settling himself on the smooth tiled floor. He waited a moment, perhaps letting the tingling pass as he adjusted to the heat, before placing his hand on Ecthelion’s submerged knee. While stroking it slowly, the younger _nér_ picked up another floating flower and — suddenly fully absorbed — turned the frail object in his fingers, watching the petals cling to their wetness.

‘There has not been a change in your house staff for as long as I remember’ Lómion pointed out with a smile that revealed the meaning behind his observation. He let the blossom slide off his thumb back into the water, knowing that any luxury transcending the usual stark elegance must have been added to Ecthelion’s routine at the Lord’s specific request, and not by mistake. 

  
‘Is the smell too strong?’ Ecthelion asked, beaming through the minute changes in his expression. ‘I did not know what you would think.’

The Lord of the Fountains’ face had a special trait: while remaining nearly still, his features could convey a whole array of emotions. Maeglin wondered if he could ever make it go beyond its scale and match the way his own mind presented Ecthelion to him in moments of distraction: face twisted by uncontrolled ecstasy. 

  
But Ecthelion’s composure was too strong — both in pleasure, as he seemed to always turn himself into a willing tool aiding less experienced Maeglin’s exploration — as well as when anger or disgust were expected of him. Simultaneously, however, Ecthelion’s thoughts were never shielded from Maeglin’s penetrating gaze. Whenever he looked into this pair of glowing eyes, all he found behind them was a steady river with occasional splashes of simple observations about the present situation or activity. His thoughts were at once soothing to follow, the way one watches a landscape — and infuriating. Wrinkles caused by the stones Maeglin threw many centuries ago could not possibly be completely smoothened, even by the rest in Mandos and rebirth — and Maeglin wondered, _hoped_ — that upon stepping into this deep river, so flat on the surface — he would get carried to his death by a hidden current. 

In the rare moments when Maeglin’s eyes searched so deep, Ecthelion never looked away. 

‘I rather like it’ Lómion decided, reaching for the loose strands of silky black hair as his lover pushed himself away from the edge of the pool so that their legs could entwine, substituting an embrace while Lómion’s hands were busy. As if he wanted to confirm his initial opinion, he lifted a wet lock to his nose and assessed the way the new smell of jasmine went with Ecthelion’s usual scent. The verdict was announced by lips curving in an increasingly brighter smile — one that called for a kiss. 

  
  
  


‘ _I assure you that you cannot hurt me._ ’ Ecthelion said some moons ago, wiping sweat off Lómion’s temple. ‘In any way. Not by accident, not even if you wanted to. I am not worried. Should you ever get close to it, you will read my discomfort.’  
For a little longer, Maeglin’s fingers kept their nearly bruising grip on his reborn acquaintance’s wrist, not knowing what else could make for a warning. 

  
‘I know I will not have to stop you’. Ecthelion’s clear voice sounded softer. ‘And _this_ … should we take this to bed? Get up.’ He coaxed, shifting under the weight of someone who clearly still did not believe was allowed to adore and desire him. 

* * *

  
  


Now, in the bath, Lómion let low gasps escape his throat at the sensation of Ecthelion’s tongue gliding against his wet skin. Today’s target was the angle of his jawline, much more defined than in his early youth in Gondolin. Having detangled his fingers from the long hair, ends of which floated on the surface like streaks of ink — a technique Ecthelion used to make marbled covers for his books — Lómion slid his hands onto his lover’s narrow hips. The older _nér_ moved closer eagerly, the heat of their bodies overriding even the heat of scented bath water.

  
  


_If I cannot hurt you, it means you are standing out of my reach._

So where was the line if not at everything that Ecthelion permitted Maeglin to do to his body that the less experienced lover now knew must have been physically uncomfortable, even if the Lord of the Fountains clearly had clearly been excited by being trained on and even deliberately hurt; where was the boundary if not where Maeglin thought it was for everyone: far, far away from him and his unforgivable faults?  
His mind mocked him again, painting the image of Ecthelion catching breath, vulnerable and beautiful in his delight. 

And as their kisses became heated and Lómion’s hands travelled up to Ecthelion’s shoulders, his grip tightened suddenly and — instead of pulling him into a starved embrace — in a swift move Maeglin pushed his beloved under water, pressing his body hard against the bottom of the pool. 

Ecthelion hardly remembered anything of the circumstances of his death — any blood still left in his body boiled in him, and the rush numbed his senses to the point where injuries were no longer a distraction. Not letting in a thought that he was already past his limits, he was mostly furious at the water tearing into his throat, at the weight of the monster, at the fastening of his helmet that he then could not undo. His nightmares never concerned this particular scene — but they did concern the feeling of helplessness, the screams of people running among falling blocks of marble muffled by the pounding in his ears; the subject was often the sudden disappearance of the bright golden banner. 

Now, trapped under Maeglin’s body, he did not fight back, however easy it would be for him to wrestle out of the lock. Gently, he placed his slender hands on his lover’s arms, and waited without motion. Under the floating petals darkened from the warmth, the glow of his open eyes steadily illuminated the cloudy water — too opaque for Maeglin to read what they said. The bubbles reached the surface in a few uneven bursts before their flow finally stopped. 

Ecthelion’s fingers curled on Maeglin’s arm. Maeglin did not let go. Not until the _nér_ ’s mind was no longer in power over his struggling body which finally stirred violently under the pressure. 

The view of Ecthelion emerging abruptly as soon as he was released swept Maeglin with sudden terror, and the young elf pressed his back against the side of the pool, his widened eyes fixed on his lover quivering, bent in a cough fit. He did not dare to touch him. Nails digging into a groove between the tiles, Maeglin expected a slap on the face at best. He could not move, but readied himself for what he had worked so hard to earn: being yelled at to leave, or for servants coming to drag him out. 

Ecthelion clutched onto the edge of the pool, catching his breath; hair stuck to his pale skin as if he himself turned into a badly marbled object.The silence felt stinging after the coughs subsided. 

‘Ecthelion, I—’ Lómion stumbled, failing to stop his hand from reaching out towards the betrayed figure. 

‘Don’t—’ Without looking up, Ecthelion attempted to push words through his trembling throat — and to Maeglin’s surprise, his lean arms wrapped around the youngster, and it was Ecthelion’s turn to use the last of his strength to imprison this mess of an elf between the side of the pool and himself, and squeeze him as tight as he could. 

‘Do not try to become something you are not.’

Maeglin burst into sobs, even though he was not the one who should have needed calming. The embrace, so fiercely tight, lasted until the water cooled — and continued in Ecthelion’s bedroom until the threat of Maeglin fleeing was gone, or at least left to be revised in the light of the morning.

  
  


‘ _It’s not a surprise that even you could not see it_ ’ Glorfindel told him many moons later, swirling the fresh wine in his cup while Ecthelion went to have a look at Erestor’s newly acquired precious scroll. ‘After all, neither could I when I was in your position. He hides nothing, but the change in the glow of his eyes is just so gradual: it is easy to omit or misinterpret it until you realise that a special shade of his light has been brought forth for you only to see. I remember my doubts, and I don't think he understood my torment — for according to him, his feelings had always been shown openly.' He laughed, reminiscing this brief time of confusion at the beginning of their long road together.  
'It had not been until this glow became strong enough to blind me that I understood that he had long chosen me.'

* * *

  
  


‘I can punish you somehow if it is something that could calm you’ Ecthelion offered, sitting in the corner of the bed in his white underrobe, careful to keep enough physical distance from Lómion in order to keep him comfortable.

‘I deserve none of the sweet punishments of yours.’

‘Then we will have to do this again’ Ecthelion’s face again brightened with the tiniest, most tender of smiles, mostly manifested by a subtle change in his eyes. Maeglin looked up at him, dark and startled.

‘What did you say?’

‘We’ll have to do this again, _Lómion_. Whenever you are ready.’

_Before I let myself lose control, I need you to believe in yours._

* * *

It was not until a trip beyond the borders of the city that they had a chance to step into the water together again. Living among the magnificence of a Valinorian city would periodically make Maeglin feel overwhelmed — especially now, when he thought that the calm spot of Ecthelion’s house had been somewhat tainted. For a long time sharing a bath was out of question for Maeglin, and the other was mindful enough to drop the subject entirely — although this in itself kept the younger elf on edge: the tender silence, the care, and Ecthelion acting as if there had been no events that called for apologies. 

But their nights had been brighter. Maybe it was all down to Lómion simply becoming more fluent in the _technicality_ , but the intrusive fantasy came close to overlapping with the image before him, only more breathtaking in reality. Unlike before, when — for the sake of Lómion, who needed guidance and encouragement — he cared to be more vocal — Ecthelion turned out to be silent when truly struck by pleasure: his moans would only come out when given a break or finally relieved, and Lómion could not get enough of the way his lover’s hands were forced to abandon their task to reciprocate caresses once the bliss was too much to handle. Lómion felt a shiver of fulfillment whenever his beautiful, ever level-headed lover clung to him like to a rope, as if he was falling, as if he was _drowning_. 

  
  


The night set in, its darkness undisturbed apart from the bitten moon above them and the lights of the houses on the other side of the lake, flickering like flames of votive candles. Ecthelion smiled as he removed the dusty blue layers of his travel clothes — well tailored, but so sturdy compared to the flowy robes he wore at home. It took pulling out his hair pin — ebony instead of his usual jade — and a few nimble moves of fingers undoing the braid at the back of his head to make his hair fall down and cover his body like a drip of ink. His eyes narrowed as his mood became playful, and in a laddish outburst he pushed Maeglin, knowing that a bit of wrestling could trick him into getting into the lake. Irritated by having his woolen clothes splashed on, the youngster stripped quickly, and ran in to chase Ecthelion who disappeared underwater and swam away from the shore.

‘We’ll dry them by the fire!’ he choked on his laughter, arms reached out in a futile attempt to shield himself from Maeglin’s fierce splashing. To rescue himself, he dipped again, circling his companion in order to sweep his legs and fall into the shallow water, now gone muddy from their tomfoolery. 

Maeglin got up, with a piece of waterweed on his face like a stain on his dignity, and could not help but smile at the view of the view of Ecthelion emerging near the shore, his chest fluttering after all the rapid swimming and laughter, his beaming face set with eyes that belonged among the stars behind him. 

Lómion moved towards him slowly, no longer with an intent to attack him, and sat in front of him in the water, his throat still tingling from chuckles. Ecthelion smiled and reached out for his lover, and it took their tickled minds a moment to acknowledge that the meaning of their touches changed from playful to affectionate. 

Maeglin shifted to sit in Ecthelion’s lap, as if to mark a completed chase, and leaned in for a kiss that his lover’s fingers tracing his jaw solicited for. Once they broke from it, Lómion caught a glimpse of a familiar thought in Ecthelion’s eyes. The older _nér’_ s features smoothened, shedding the last traces of jocularity. His tender smile, which Maeglin used to find nearly offensive in its acceptance, looked different this time: it showed a need, a patient awaiting.

Maeglin smiled against his lover’s lips while letting him catch his breath before he settled his hands on Ecthelion’s shoulders. The black streaks of hair briefly swirled on the surface when — gently and slowly — the youth pushed him underwater, until his back pressed against the sandy lake bed. 

The moon struggled to penetrate the murky water enough to reflect from Ecthelion’s skin. Particles of silt and waterweed obscured the glow of his eyes in their passing before he closed them completely. Maeglin promptly eased his grip as soon as he determined that the air bubbles that reached the surface were all that remained; he lifted his arms above water, still sitting on Ecthelion’s thighs, and waited, wide eyed, until his lover sat up by himself, after a long moment he spent underwater without any weight forcing him to. 

_‘I would come back to you. I would let you drown me three hundred times, or as many as it takes for Namo to become weary of me knocking on his door.’_

_As many times as it takes you to understand._


End file.
